


Sing A Song With Me

by ladydragon76



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Tailgate’s going to break through that wall one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing A Song With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoulesBurn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesBurn/gifts).



> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Characters:** Cyclonus/Tailgate  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Notes:** A prompt from joules_burn - _Cyclonus+Tailgate- One is the Loneliest Number_

Tailgate was more observant than he was ever given credit for. Of course, most of his observations were about Cyclonus, and no one else really cared that much. But that didn’t change the fact that Tailgate was good at it.

For example: If Cyclonus wasn’t lonely and simply liked being alone, then why was he always in the bar? Tailgate got the whole introvert thing, and maybe Cyclonus even liked people watching, but he didn’t look _happy_. He didn’t look entertained. He looked… lonely. Like a mech watching, yearning, but shunned and unwelcome.

Tailgate couldn’t really argue the unwelcome or shunned part. He wasn’t stupid after all, and he knew how almost everyone felt about Cyclonus. Some mechs just carried a stigma no matter how much good they did. Tailgate didn’t care about all that though, and he never had. He was drawn to the old warrior, and not just because of the shared timeline of their past. Pits, not even from the energy transfer Cyclonus had given to save Tailgate’s life. There was _something_ there. Something deeper, and Tailgate was tenacious enough to poke and prod, and _keep_ poking and prodding and trying to chisel his way through that emotional wall to get to it.

That was why he slipped through the crowd at the bar, and then hopped up onto the bench with Cyclonus when he reached the mech’s table. Wordlessly, Tailgate set a datapad on the tabletop and nudged it toward a large, clawed hand. Rung was a kind mech, and when he had come across the old sheet music in his storage compartment, he had given it to Tailgate, well aware of the singing lessons Cyclonus occasionally gave him.

Cyclonus picked up the datapad, and a moment later nodded before sliding it back to Tailgate. “Our next lesson.”

“Ok.” Not another word was spoken, and Tailgate noticed how Cyclonus relaxed when the silence between them stretched on. It was subtle, just a _slight_ loosening of purple plating, but it was there for an observant mech to see.


End file.
